Oh yes, there's going to be a houseful and Thanksgiving. But somehow the real reason for being excited is the road and the desert in this late-fall-super-oxygenated atmosphere."
And so it was. So it was.
In the end, one place is home: the road. One place I always look back to, one place I have come to know. The road affords a kind of security, comfort in its transitoriness, its anonymity, its cruelty, its sameness. On the road, I know I don't know what I will find next. All I know is that it will be handled the same way all unexpected things are handled, according to the nature of the road. People are passed, faces blur by. Places that are home to people pass by, self sufficient in their scenery, in their lakes and trees, meaning home to their inhabitants.
The road is home until I get tired and start falling asleep and then may God bless me with a nice, warm ditch.
(my current ditch is just great. I'm a happy man.)
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